


Fixation

by theonewhohums



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Habits, Hands, Humor, Massage, SoMa Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewhohums/pseuds/theonewhohums
Summary: After years of Soul taking her hands in his and miraculously alleviating her pain, Maka had gotten accustomed to it. It wasn’t until now that Maka actually stopped to think about it. WhydidSoul do that?Written for Day 4 of SoMa Week 2017: Habits





	Fixation

**Author's Note:**

> Is it a coincidence that I write about SE characters giving each other hand and wrist massages shortly after I've found out that I probably have tendinitis? Pfff, of course. The biggest coincidence.

“Hey, whose turn is it to make dinner tonight?” Maka asked Soul, gingerly stripping her dirt-covered gloves from her fingers.

“Yours,” he said with a sadistic grin. Soul was always delighted on any day that wasn’t his turn to cook. “And don’t think I’m letting you back out of it again. I _know_ we have groceries this time.”

Maka nodded absently, looking down at her scarred and calloused hands mournfully. She could barely uncurl them without feeling a tremor run through them.  It was only a month and a half after their fight with the Wolf Man, and while the burns on Maka’s hands had finally healed, the sensitivity remained a constant problem. After missions their functionality was shot to hell. She flexed them gingerly, hoping she’d be able to hold a spatula for next half hour.

“Hey, what’s the hold-up?” Soul called from the living room after not hearing pans clanging together. “You’re not gonna pull that I-have-too-much-homework crap again, are you? You promised to actually make dinner tonight.”

Maka grit her teeth and grabbed a nonstick pan from the drying rack, trying not to think about how difficult it would be to hold a pencil later when she finally _did_ do her homework.

“I got it, I got it. Just don’t rush me, okay?”

Soul must have noticed a change in her voice, because he dropped the asshole routine and turned around on the couch to look at her. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, reaching into the fridge to pull out the ground chuck for hamburgers. The cool packaging of the beef felt wonderful on her swollen hands.

Soul rolled his eyes and stood up. “Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ that means something is wrong and you’re too stubborn to tell me.”

Maka stuck her tongue out at him as he made his way to the kitchen, but didn’t try to dispute him. He was right, after all.

“Your hands are hurting again, aren’t they?” he asked, watching as she tried to grab a spatula using only the tips of her fingers.

Maka sighed. “A little.”

He met her in the kitchen and took hold of one of wrists, bringing her hand closer so he could see it in the light. In most cases, Maka bared her battle scars with absolute pride. She loved her job as a meister and she knew that every scar on her body was an indicator that she made it out of a hard battle alive. But the scars on her hands weren’t inflicted by a kishin, but by her own stubbornness and stupidity. If she hadn’t been so insecure after their fight with the Demon Sword she wouldn’t have caused her and Soul’s wavelengths to be out of sync. The newly pink scars on her hands were a reminder of the way she almost broke up their partnership, and looking at them made her feel a little sick.

Soul prodded one of her callouses without warning. Maka yelped and snatched her hand away.

“Ow! What’s your problem?”

Soul took her hand back. “Sorry, I just wanted to see how bad it was.”

“Yeah, well a little _warning_ would—be—” she trailed off when Soul’s hands moved to grip her whole hand instead, pressing his fingertips softly into the sore parts of her hand. “—nice…….”

It became increasingly hard to focus when Soul’s thumb and index finger were pressing against either side of her hand, massaging slow circles into the meat of her palm. The sensation was foreign and so _welcomed_ that Maka completely forgot what she was talking about. His hands moved slowly up hers, rubbing her knuckles gently and pinching each finger around the joint until she could slowly unfurl her fingers. Maka watched the whole ordeal speechlessly, not sure what to say when her partner gives her a hand massage two minutes after berating her for not cooking dinner fast enough.

“Does the left one hurt too?” he asked.

She nodded slowly, and watched in amazement as he gave her other hand the exact same treatment. He rubbed each bit of her hand with careful scrutiny, waiting until she was able to flex it properly before he finally let go.

Maka looked down at her hands, which definitely still stung but were a lot more mobile than they hand been five minutes ago. How did he do that?

But as Maka opened her mouth to ask him what that was all about, Soul was picking up the package of beef from the counter to get a better look at it.

“Burgers? Cool. Tell me when they’re ready.” And with that, he went back to the couch to watch more TV.

Maka looked down at her hands in bewilderment, flexing her hands again. She still wanted to ask him about what just happened, or thank him maybe, but it seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it. So she picked up the package of beef, intent on leaving it be, for now.

* * *

“You know, you could just be like a normal person and borrow my laptop,” Soul said, chin resting on his arms as he sat across from Maka in the library, staring at her in boredom.

She didn’t even bother dignifying him with a response, too intent on finishing her essay before study period was over. Her hand was cramping furiously, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from hand-writing it. Maka would type her homework out when she bought her _own_ laptop, not use Soul’s stupid gaming laptop that his rich parents from the east coast sent him for his birthday. Maka didn’t need his dumb charity, not from a slacker partner who didn’t even write his essay at all. No, she had her lucky pencil and fifteen minutes left of library time to finish this essay, if only Soul would stop _bothering_ her when she was clearly BUSY—

Her pencil snapped in half in her furious grip, and Maka’s hand stilled.

Soul looked disbelievingly at the splintered pencil half still in Maka’s iron grip. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little crazy?”

“This essay needs to be _finished,_ Soul,” she said angrily, looking at the two inches of pencil left in her hand. Writing with this was going to kill her.

Soul rolled his eyes before unceremoniously grabbing her right hand and cracking her knuckles one-by-one. After writing two and a half pages by hand already, she didn’t think it was possible to gain feeling back in her fingers, but there it was, blood flowing to the tips again. He kept his hold on her for only a moment longer to roll her wrist forwards and backwards a couple times before letting go without a word, handing her his mechanical pencil.

“Don’t snap that one too,” he told her with no real heat in his voice, his head already returning to its old spot on top of his folded arms.

Maka looked at her rejuvenated hand, her partner, and the pencil.

“Only twelve minutes now,” Soul said lazily, looking at his wristwatch.

Maka shook her head a little and pulled her notebook back towards her, using her new pencil to write out her third main point.

* * *

 

Anya fell unceremoniously onto her ass, and Maka giggled a little at her pout.

“It’s okay to not get it on the first try, it’s a complicated move,” she told the first-year gently. Sometimes she and Soul tutored underclassmen on the weekends (well, Soul’s participation wasn’t exactly voluntary), and young Tsugami and her two meisters had become their favorite team to teach. Anya was a very diligent meister, but she didn’t seem to take failure well.

“But it is not my first try!” she cried stubbornly. “I should be better by now. We’ve been practicing for hours.”

Maka laughed and leaned Soul’s handle on one of her shoulders. “You just switched with Meme fifteen minutes ago. Give it another try.”

Anya took a deep breath and looked at her halberd until she heard Tsugami give her a tinny “I’m ready!”

Anya began the sequence again, spinning Tsugami rapidly while performing complex footwork that would allow for tighter circles when she was dodging multiple attacks. Maka watched Anya’s face scrunch up in concentration as she focused on her steps, but her hands grew sloppy. Before Maka had time to intervene, Anya had conked herself on the forehead with the bottom of Tsugami’s handle.

“You’re not letting your weapon help,” Soul said from his weapon form, where he’d been watching them as well. “Tsugami’s supposed to be guiding half of her movements, but you’re taking complete control, Anya.”

Anya looked bitterly at Soul’s blade. “What else am I supposed to do if she’s not contributing?”

Maka could just barely hear a small “I’m sorry” from the tip of the halberd. Tsugami always had a hard time speaking up for herself under stress.

Maka said, “Tsugami, transform. I want the three of you to watch Soul and I perform the move again.”

Tsugami transformed back and went to stand between Meme and Anya, unconsciously scooting a little closer to Meme in the process.

“Alright, Soul,” Maka said. Soul nodded in his blade and she took a deep breath, letting everything fall away as she took a step back and immediately fell into an effortless rhythm, spinning Soul and twirling her way through the complicated step sequence like it was nothing. She’d been doing it for years, so of course this move was second nature to her, but it was even easier because she had given Soul the reigns on her hand movements. He spun in and out of her fingers in quick propeller motions, never once fumbling in her hands or coming close to hitting her. The trust she gave him allowed the sequence to look less like a battle movement and more like a graceful dance.

After a few moments she stopped, resting Soul’s handle on her shoulder again. Her left wrist twinged a bit from practicing for so long, but she ignored it.

“Do you guys get it now?”

Maka didn’t think it was possible for the three girls to look more bewildered than before, but one look at their little ‘o’ faces made it clear that the lesson still hadn’t stuck.

“Listen, with practice it will become easier. You just have to learn to trust each other and understand your partner’s strengths and weaknesses—Yes, Tsugami?”

Tsugami put her hand down. “Is it customary for weapons to massage their meister’s hands too?”

“Custom—what?” Maka looked beside her to see that Soul had transformed without her noticing, and his softer hands were delicately rubbing circles into her inner wrist. The slight stinging pain was already beginning to wane.

“Oh, uh, that.” After years of Soul taking her hands in his and miraculously alleviating her pain, Maka had gotten accustomed to it. It wasn’t until now that Maka actually stopped to think about it. _Was_ it a weapon thing? Something that Soul was taught in one of his weapon classes? After-mission medical care was something they had learned back when they were still first-years. Cleaning your partner’s battle wounds was supposed to be a bonding experience for meisters and weapons that brought you closer together.

But this didn’t seem like the textbook stuff that they normally did after coming home from a mission. Soul barely needed an excuse to take her by the hand and massage her knuckles. Sometimes it was after practicing, but other times it was just while they sat on the couch watching TV together. Maka could have the remote in one hand, scrolling through their recorded programs, and the other would be between Soul’s while he rolled her wrist and pressed his thumbs into the meat of her palm.

Why _did_ Soul do that?

Maka looked at Soul for some sort of answer, but Soul just continued his ministrations until he seemed satisfied. Maka had to admit that her wrist felt fully functional again. (And _how_ did he do that?)

When it was clear that Soul wasn’t going to respond, Maka struggled for an explanation. “It’s, um, not _customary_ , per se, but maintaining some form of—of physical contact,” Maka swallowed, “with your weapons outside of battle, can strengthen your bond as partners?”

She looked to Soul again, but he was doing a fantastic impersonation of a mute person today, looking in the distance and refusing to meet her gaze.

Even though her explanation didn’t sound the least bit sure, the three freshman took her word for it. Tsugami and Meme both turned to Anya, where both of them attempted to soothe the bump growing on her forehead.

“Ow! Stop poking it, Meme!”

Maka took this to be a good stopping point for the day, and wished the girls good luck on their form work as she followed Soul off campus, where he had already started pacing away.

“Hey!” Maka said, jogging a bit to catch up with him. “What was with the silent treatment back there?”

Soul’s gaze remained trained ahead. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Just didn’t have anything to add.”

She could have just let it go, but now that Tsugami brought it up, Maka was curious. “So I was right? All the stuff you do with my hands is just a weapon thing?” She didn’t even really know what she meant by that, but that’s all it could have been, right?

“Your hands are a big part of who you are as a meister. It would make sense to keep them in good condition,” he said stoically. It didn’t feel like the whole truth.

“So this is just…to keep me in top form as a meister?”

Soul took her left hand in his as they walked, and again Maka couldn’t help noticing how natural it felt after years of impromptu massages. His fingers were warm as he entwined them with hers.

“What other reason would there be?” he asked her, face falling into a smile that made her palms start to sweat a bit.

If Soul noticed, he didn’t say anything, and Maka was glad for that. She spent the rest of their walk home trying to control the frantic beating of her heart, but she noticed with interest that she never made any attempts to take her hand back, either.

 

 


End file.
